Where Two Worlds Become One
by OoOSorceressOoO
Summary: A "Crazy for You" fic! What a change of pace! Ok, now what if PATSY and LANK had a secret relationship with along with everything else thats going on? Warning: deep, romantic, passionate...for the crazed LANK fan...r/r
1. Default Chapter

"Where Two Worlds Become One" By: Sorceress  
  
A/N: A "Crazy for You" fic! How different! What if Patsy and Lank had a secret relationship with everything else going on? Warning: Deep, romantic, passionate, and touching. PG-13.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do with crazy for you. It belongs to the ingenious minds of George and Ira Gershwin. However, I did put some actual lines from the show in this story. So don't yell at me.  
  
It was a usual day in Deadrock, Nevada. Well, usual enough with the Zangler Follies around. A few days ago, a guy named Bobby Child, a banker from New York City, came to Deadrock to foreclose on the old Gaiety Theatre that old Everett Baker owned. Everett and his beautiful daughter, Polly, were very upset by this. Well, this Bobby Child character decided somehow to help out and try to bring the theatre back to life by bringing the Zangler Follies and Bela Zangler himself out here, so the Bakers can pay off the mortgage. So now, the Zangler Follies are here in what was once a sleepy, lazy town. And Lank Hawkins, the saloon proprietor, lost everything. Lank had always wanted to buy the old run-down theatre. But would old Everett listen? Of course not. Lank didn't understand why Everett would let a complete stranger take over the place, when he, Lank, had provided practically breakfast, lunch, (alcoholic) drinks, and dinner to the inhabitants of Deadrock. Why? Why! Lank Hawkins was an extremely tall, scrawny man with brown hair and pericing dark eyes that flashed almost vindictively like bullets through the dusty, moldy, desert air. He was busying himself with tending to the three customers in his unnaturally quiet saloon, which had started to go down the drain. Now that the so called "men" of the town were now a bunch of dancing knuckleheads, they had no time to while away the hours drinking, playing cards, and deal with hangovers in the saloon. "Waste of time," Lank thought as he gave Moose his twelfth drink. He didn't understand at all. Not one blasted bit. His main concern now was to prove that all this rehearsing was a complete waste of time! (Well, not that they would be doing anything important anyway) and he had a feeling that this show won't go through. It just can't! Why is he the most intelligent one here? How come nobody else in this poor excuse of a town can see things realistically? Lank thought Polly at least had as much sense as him. A few moments later, Sam, Custus, Wyatt, Polly, and three of the Follies Girls bustled into the saloon, red-faced and looking exhausted. "What a rehearsal!" said Custus. "I'm beat! It's getting there though," said Wyatt. The girls just looked at each other. Lank could tell that the rehearsals weren't going too well. Well duh, did the goofy girls expect to see a bunch of Fred Astaires running around? "Uh, oh yeah! Way better!" said a girl, though she didn't seem too sure about it. Lank recognized her as the dance director, Tess, a tall brunette with an almost abnormally big mouth, and never knew when to keep it shut. "So did yall have fun?" Lank asked sarcastically. "Man, this dancin' is hard stuff!" said Sam. "These girls make it look so easy!" The three girls blushed. "You know Lank, you should try some dancin'," Wyatt said. "I think you'd be good at it!" Lank laughed his trademark, chilling laugh and whirled around to Wyatt. "Tell me, Mister, why I would want to do something that I know I'll never be able to do?" "Oh c'mon Lank, he was only kiddin' with ya," said Sam. "Yeah, Lank, you're so negative," said Custus. "Oh please," said Lank, feeling his temper and already bad attitude rise. "Look, if I can't do that ridiculous dancing, then I know you won't be able to. I mean, really, ladies," he walked over to Tess and the other two girls. "How did they do? How many days have you done those steps? They know nothing about the theatre! I'll prove it to you!" "Lank -," said Polly. "I mean, c'mon ladies. You've seen these guys. They can't even get out of their own way! What makes you think they can do a Charleston? They've been moving in slow motion since they were born!" "Oh shut yer yap, Lank," said Polly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous!" "Jealous?! I'm not jealous!" Lank snapped. "Just frustrated!" "Yeah, yeah," said Polly, laughing, and drifted out to the street. Everyone else went with her, leaving a frustrated Lank alone in his saloon.  
  
"Mr. Hawkins!" called a cold, steely voice. Lank groaned. He unfortunately didn't have to ask who it was. "What?" he said, with absolutely no respect. He looked up and saw a slender, evening gown clad women standing in the saloon behind him, wearing an expression of utmost loathing and disgust. "Why aren't you doing anything about this stupid show? You're the only one here besides me who's against it!" It was Irene, a New York woman who showed up only this morning. Lank had no idea who she was or why she was here. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Lank, turning around. "When was I the official show-annihilator?" Irene scowled. "You're against it!" "Well so are you! You do something about it!" said Lank. "Why should I? I don't live here! Thanks be to God," Irene snapped. "So go home! No one's making you stay!" said Lank, feeling, if possible, more and more irritable. "I'm not going home without B- I mean 'Zangler'," she said in air- quotations. Lank wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he didn't care. "So go talk to him!" Lank said. Irene had nothing to say to this. She just looked at him. Her hatred of him was matched only by his hatred of her. "You want me to do it, don't you?" said Lank, marveling at the stubborn figure before him. "I never said that!" Irene shouted. "I can see it! You want me to do some secret dirty work! Listen Lady, I would. GLADLY. Anything to stop this ridiculous show, for the sake of this town and my business. But I'm not getting into your personal life!" "Fine! Don't do anything! You'll be crying to me later if this show ever does get off the ground!" said Irene. "Okay, one," said Lank, "I don't cry. And if I ever sunk as low as that, I most certainly won't come crying to you! Two, this show will never get off the ground!" "It will if you don't do something soon!" "I don't have to do anything!" Lank said, now spitting with rage. "I know these guys. I've known them since I was a youngin'. I think I know what they are capable of. And trust me, they won't be able to pull this off. And even if by some ungodly reason they get it together, there won't be a show, because NOBODY is gonna want to come all the way out here and see it! We are the middle of nowhere! We shame America! Like I told Everett earlier the other day, WE HAD BODIES LAYING IN THE STREET! We are the ARMPIT OF THE AMERICAN WEST!!!!" Lank was now positively shaking with anxiety, anger, and frustration. He hadn't noticed that a few girls and cowboys drifted in to see what the hollering was about. Irene looked at him. "Whatever you say," she said, obviously unalarmed by the wrath of a touchy cowboy. "I'm taking a nap." She walked upstairs to her room and slammed her door, making sure that dust particles fell onto the clean saloon floor. Lank stared at the handful of men who seemed unperturbed by Lank's almost dangerous fury as they just shook their heads and walked out the door. The girls, however, looked at Lank as if he were a madman. "What?!" he snapped at them. They all jumped and ran out to the street. Lank sat down at a table and put his head in his hands, trying to swallow the scream of misery that was inching to burst out of him. He tried to calm down, gather his thoughts, and just accept the fact that he was doomed. There was no way out. No stinkin' way. He heard someone walk into the saloon but he didn't look up. He rubbed his temples and sighed. Through blurred vision he saw the outline of a tiny, skinny figure drinking from a glass of water from the bar. It was a Follies Girl. He recognized this one too, though he wasn't sure of her name. He couldn't help noticing that she was the only one with hair as yellow as wheat in the summer, and a smile that seemed to give the sun competition. As Lank looked at her, he seemed to feel the frustration and anger ebb away from his body, as if she was some sort of medicine for stress. All he knew was right now he seemed quite content, as he was before Bobby Child showed up. He felt as if some unknown force sucked all his troubles out of him, and he made a silent plea for that girl not to leave. He wanted her to just stand there all day, and watch her drink water after what was most likely a tiring rehearsal. The girl turned to walk away when she caught Lank staring at her. She gasped. "Oh," she said, "Oh, Mr. Lank, I'm sorry, I-I just needed a drink, I'll-I'll leave." Her voice was high pitched and shaky, probably because Lank scared the daylights out of her. She was among the girls who bolted out of the saloon when Lank flipped his lid. 'No.stay.' he pleaded with her silently. But he knew she wouldn't. She undoubtedly saw he, Lank, as a bitter, depressed, unhappy, miserable cowboy who wasn't capable of love, or understanding. But she didn't leave. She was giving him a quizzical look, and then Lank became aware of his awkward silence. "Uh, you don't have to leave if you don't want to. You-you look exhausted. Take as much as you need," Lank said, sounding more curt than he'd anticipated. She looked at him with wide eyes as if she couldn't belive what he had just said. "Uh, thanks, but, uh, I'm okay now." 'She doesn't want to stay,' Lank thought. "Oh. Okay then," Lank mumbled. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked taking a step toward him. Lank's ears perked up. 'Did she just say what I thought she said?' he asked himself. "Oh I'm.I'm okay I guess." "Bad day?" she said with the smallest of smiles. "Uh.yeah.bad day," Lank muttered, feeling a bit stupid for some reason. "I get them too," she said, still standing near the bar. 'Come to me,' Lank thought pleadingly. "Yeah, I-I seem to get them an awful lot," Lank said feeing even more stupid. "You seem a bit distressed," she said, taking another step closer. Normally Lank would've had a sarcastic response to a statement such as this, especially from a little girl from New York. But her big eyes and beautiful face stared down at him in concern, and he just couldn't say anything except for a "Yeah. Yeah, just a little." Wait, that was sarcastic. Doh. To Lank's surprise, she smiled again, but this time it was big, toothy, and radiant. She walked over to him and sat down across from him. Lank felt like he was going to faint as his eyes unintentionally stayed glued to her. She took his wrist and held it to her ear. Lank felt himself tense up as her soft skin cushioned his rough, weather-beaten skin. "You know, you should watch your blood pressure," she said, now holding his wrist up to her ear. He felt soft, blonde curls caress his hand. "You don't wanna know what happened to my Aunt Amelia." She lowered his hand and ran her own through her crop of blonde curls. "Stress is the forceful killer." Lank tried to say something to this, but all that came out was a funny choking noise. "Sorry?" she said. "Uh.nothing," he said. "I mean, yeah, you're right. I should uh.calm down. Can't loose my head." He looked at her. They made eye contact for about two seconds, then they both looked away. She cleared her throat. "Well, I um, I gotta get going.I need to um.talk to Tess." Lank kept staring. Then it hit him. "Oh! Right. Well um, see you." He said gloomily. "'Bye, Mr. Lank," she said, getting up. "Remember what I said about your blood pressure." "What? Oh. Right," he said. She turned and walked away. "Hey," he said as he stood up. She turned around. "What was your name again?" "Oh!" she said. "Patsy." "Patsy," he repeated. "Okay. Thanks." "Yeah," she said. And walked out into the street. Lank watched her until she was out of sight. Marveled at her beautiful figure and natural sweet and innocence. How her hair bounced in the wishy-washy light of the setting sun, how her eyes looked as deep as the sky, how her smile gleamed as if the sun had retired. "Patsy," he said to himself. "Patsy! My God, that's a wonderful name!" 


	2. Chapter 2

"Where Two World Become One" Chapter 2 By: Sorceress  
  
A/N: Hey again. I hope you liked the last chapter. This story is going to get sooooo good I swear to you. Peace out. Oh yeah, and in the summary I wrote "very deep, romantic, and passionate".I meant it.  
  
Lank wasn't sure how he slept that night. He didn't even remember sleeping at all, come to think of it. His head seemed to be full of Patsy. Young, beautiful, talented, sweet Patsy. She was swimming in his thoughts. She seemed to be controlling of his thoughts. She seemed to now have total access to his brain, because everything thing he did or saw reminded him of Patsy. When he polished drink glasses last night, he was reminded of her gleaming smile. When he saw the yellow desert sand, he thought of her soft blonde hair. When he saw anything brown, he immediately drifted to the kind, deep eyes that had stared into his own at the table yesterday. Explanation of what he dreamed of last night is unnecessary. Needless to say, he woke up feeling rather oddly down in the basement. Lank had never felt this way before. He really had it bad for Polly, but that's done and over with now. Polly hated him, and Lank was fed up with her. But Lank was facing an even more difficult scenario. Patsy was a Follies Girl. From the Zangler Follies. The Zangler Follies were here for the show. The show that would probably ruin everything forever. Lank was supposed to be against the show, which he is, of course. But that would mean being against Patsy, and Lank was certainly not against her. And Patsy probably thought Lank was against the show, which she was a part of. 'Lank, you've got yourself a mess', he thought to himself as he tried to forget the girl and get back to some state of normalcy. Since he (again), had no customers, Lank decided to take a walk to the theatre and watch some of the rehearsing. As he walked into the lobby the first person he saw was none other then Patsy. She was drilling the trio in a dance routine. "Hands out, hands together, hands on head. Hands out, hands together, hands on hips," she said, doing the motions as the men followed. "Hands out, hands together, hands on chest." To her and Lank's utter surprise, the men put their hands on her chest. Patsy's big eyes got bigger. "No!" she said. "Not MY chest, YOUR chest!" "Oh.yeah.right," muttered the cowboys in disappointment. Lank just looked at them. They looked back. Patsy turned to see what they were staring at. Her eyes met Lank's. "Oh! Mr.-Mr. Lank!" she said, "Uh, hi," Lank said, as the familiar sensational feeling hit him again. "What are you doing?" "Rehearsing," Patsy said. "I was talking to these guys," Lank said, the natural irritability inside him made him forget who he was talking to and made his sentence sound very rude indeed. "I mean," he said, "What do you guys think you're doing? Touching a lady like that?" Patsy looked at him. She certainly didn't know how to take this. The cowboys looked at Lank also. "Shucks Lank, since when were you so concerned about the safety of women?" asked Sam. "Yeah, you didn't seem too worried whenever you propose to Polly," said Mingo. Lank could have killed him for saying that. "Yeah, how many times do you ask her to marry you a day?" asked Moose. "Three or four times," said Mingo. "An hour," said Sam. Lank had enough. Patsy was looking at Lank as if he were something ugly and disgusting. "For your information, Moose, I have given up on Polly," Lank said. The trio laughed. "Ha! Yeah right!" said Mingo. "Let me guess, you're onto someone else?" asked Sam, teasingly. "As a matter of fact, yes," said Lank, wishing he were still in bed. "And are you planning on this one to actually work, Lank?" asked Moose. Lank said nothing. He could feel Patsy's stare, and he didn't dare look her in the eye. "Yeah right. You'll find someone to fall in love with you when we all become Fred Astaire," said Mingo. "Not to mention cows flying," said Sam. The boys laughed. Just then Polly came in. "Don't forget! Rehearsal in ten minutes!" she said. "Another rehearsal? Heck, I've been ready for a whole week!" said Mingo. The boys, including Patsy, walked on stage. The telephone rang. Polly, either not noticing Lank or just completely ignoring him, walked right past him and picked up the receiver. "Gaiety Theatre and U.S. Post Office. The show starts at eight o'clock this Friday night. Just hop off the train, then it's about an hour's walk from the station.hello? Hello?" slightly disappointed, Polly disconnected and started hanging up posters. Lank walked over to her. "Well, well, well, the busy bee is hard at work," he said. "Lank, this here's a theatre and a post office. You can buy a ticket or a stamp. Otherwise, go back to your saloon," she said. "Polly," said Lank. It was clear Patsy thought he was scum. There was nothing, nothing, not even the slimmest chance he would attempt to support the show now. He had no reason to. "You're wasting your time. The show is doomed. Do you honestly thing people are going to pay good money to see a bunch of singing numbskulls?" "Lank." said Polly. Just then, Pete came into the theatre. "Mornin' Polly," he said. "Mornin' Pete." "Now, what does this man know about the theatre?" Lank said. "Lay off him, Lank," Polly said, giving him a look. "Perhaps, you can tell us, sir, your views on the contemporary American stage?" Lank said, putting his arm around him. "Heck, I dunno," said Pete. "'Heck I don't know'," repeated Lank, pleased with himself. "I suppose that's fairly trenchant." "Well, I suppose you could say that, Eugene O'Neil is just beginning explore the symbolism of Greek tragedy," Pete said. Lank looked at Pete, then Polly. "And I suppose Anton Chekov is still a pretty important influence, and then there's Staninslavsky." Pete continued. Lank put his hand over Pete's mouth. "Thank you!" he said. Polly laughed. "'Bye Lank," she said, walking out. "Polly come back here!" Lank shouted after her. "Polly!" She didn't return. Lank made a mental note to scream at the top of his lungs when he returned to the saloon. "Headstrong, ain't she?" said Pete. "Kinda reminds me of that gal in King Lear." Lank made a lunge at Pete, who ducked and ran out onto the stage. Lank had probably hit rock bottom. He was ready to go to desperate measures. He pulled out his gun. "I'll stop this show if it's the last thing I ever do!" he said aloud.  
  
Later that day, Lank had heard that rehearsal had gone almost extraordinarily well, Moose learned how to play a bass fiddle, and that made him feel, if possible, more down then he already was. He had come so low, that he put a sign on the bar that said "Help Yourself" and locked himself in his room. He laid on his bed, for God knows how long, and stared up at the ceiling, which seemed to have Patsy's picture painted on it. He had never felt a love for someone like this. It almost hurt. But most of the pain came from the fact that he probably will never have her. He will never own her precious smile and gorgeous body that made him all tingly when he saw it move in the slightest way. He needed her. He needed her right now. He couldn't help thinking what it would be like if she was here now, laying beside him, her delicate fingers caressing his face and wiping his tears, kissing them away, and he would be hearing her voice, sweet as honey, telling him that everything will be alright. He would put his strong arms around her little waist and hold her close, never letting go. He would breathe the scent of her skin and hair, and kiss the soft locks that bounced happily when she moved. He would feel every inch of her curvy body, and hear her steady breathing. Simultaneously she would have her face buried in his chest, and he would be able to feel her long eyelashes tickle him. He would press their hips closer, while she lazily kissed his chest, her lips working her way to his. And there he would kiss her so deeply, so lovingly, she would become limp in his arms, which meant he would have to just hold her even tighter and closer. Yes, Lank had become so deeply involved in these thoughts that he almost expected to see Patsy next to him. But he saw no one. The only body on the bed was he, Lank Hawkins, the failure of the West. The sarcastic, cold- hearted being who, according to the men of Deadrock, wasn't capable of love. He heard a noise downstairs in the saloon and debated whether or not he should go down and see who it was. Finally, with the urge of knowing who would be wasting their time there, he washed his face to erase the dried tearstains, and walked downstairs. He walked into the saloon only to find Custus, Jimmy, Junior, and four girls. One of them was Tess, one was Elaine, one was Mitzi, and one was Patsy. Lank stopped. Then got a hold of himself and took the sign down from the bar and served the boys their usuals with Harry. Custus came in and started playing the piano. And the place was soon filled with a few more girls and men. And Lank, looking around at everyone, smiled for the first time in a while. Then he realized it was Wednesday night. Wednesday seemed to be saloon night, and almost everyone in town was there. Lank had forgotten how much fun Wednesdays were. This would be the ideal time to try to talk to Patsy. He saw Patsy get up, and Lank knew it was now or never. She walked to the bar. Lank made Harry take a break. "Wow Lank, you've never given me a break before!" said Harry. Great. Another proof of Lank's (what he hoped will soon be past) meanness. "Well, you're working too hard. Go enjoy yourself for a while. Go ahead!" And he threw Harry over to Custus and the piano. Patsy was looking at him with a slight smile on her face. Lank looked back and made eye contact. It was wonderful. He smiled the best he could and took a deep breath. "What can I get you ma'am?" he said, trying to be as friendly as possible, not breaking his smile. Patsy laughed, still making eye contact. "Well what've you got?" she said. "Well, madam, I have anything you want." Lank had to stop himself from saying "And I mean anything," as a little joke, but he figured that would be too rude. But to his surprise, Patsy said "Anything?" giving him a look. Lank looked at her in disbelief and excitement. Patsy laughed. "Just kidding," she said. Lank absorbed what she said and laughed too. "Yeah, well, what can I really get you?" he asked. "Oh nothing really," she said. "I just wanted to talk to you," she said, Lank almost fainted. "R-really?" he said. Patsy laughed again. "Of course," she said. "Listen, I uh, wanted to thank you for, you know, yelling at those boys today when they, you know." Lank tried to remember what happened before he shut himself up in his room and wallowed in misery. "Oh! Well, uh, that was nothing. They should know better then that," Lank said. "They should," she said. Though Lank couldn't blame them for wanting to touch Patsy that way as his eyes drifted to that area. "Yeah," he said. Lank took his eyes off her chest and looked into her eyes again. "See, the only woman we had here was Polly," Lank said. "And she's as tough, if not tougher than all of them put together. But when you girls showed up, its like they'd never seen a proper gal before. Well, they haven't," he said. "Well, what makes us so different?" Patsy asked. Lank thought for a second. "Well, for one thing, you're from the city. You look different, you act differently, and you're just." Lank tried to find the right words. "A nice change of pace," he finished. Patsy smiled. "Aw, you're making me blush," she said as she looked down. She looked into his eyes again, this time with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked. Lank's eyes looked from right to left. "Yeah," he said. "Why?" "Your eyes are all red," she said. "Have you been upset?" Lank wanted to die on the spot. His tears were dried, but his eyes were still red. She could tell. "No," he said. "I'm, I'm okay. Allergies," he said. "The um, dust," he said. "Oh," she said, though he could sense she didn't belive him. "Listen, Patsy," Lank said, gathering up every ounce of courage. "I uh, could use some help tonight, cleaning up. And I was wondering if, you know, you'd like to help me." He bit his bottom lip and looked at her, hoping it didn't sound as if he wanted her to be some sort of servant. Patsy studied him for a moment. Then she smiled. "Alright then," she said. "Patsy! C'mere, I wanna talk to you!" called a voice from across the room. It was Tess. "Oh, I uh, gotta go. I'll see you later," she said. Lank tipped his hat. "Okay then," he said. Patsy smiled (again) and walked to Tess. Just then Moose, Mingo, Sam, Wyatt, Jimmy, and Joe swarmed the bar. "Lank Hawkins! Do I belive my ears?" said Joe. Lank looked at him. "What?" he said, loosing the charm he put on for Patsy. "You just made a move on that city gal! And you yell at us for not respectin' her!" said Moose. "Hush up!" Lank said. "At least I didn't go and grab her like she was a flapjack!" "Yeah, you're waiting for tonight. 'Help me clean up', that's a load of bull!" said Jimmy. "For you information, Jimmy, I am NOT planning on touching her in any questionable manner!" Lank said hotly. The boys just laughed. "Oh c'mon Lank, we know you too well," said Mingo. "Yeah, everyone knows you're a sneak! Everyone except for that poor little girl! You're just takin' advantage of her 'cause you know she's a little wifty and you know Polly's in love with Mr. Zangler!" said Wyatt. Lank looked at him. "Polly? And Zangler?" "Yeah, I went back into the theatre just now to get my hat I'd left in there. They didn't see me, I can assure that!" said Sam. "Good," said Lank. Now he wouldn't have to worry about Polly. Yet he still didn't trust this Zangler character. Something smelled fishy from the very get-go. And it wasn't Moose. "Listen you big-headed fools," Lank said, "I do what I wanna do. You can't stop me. And if I find any of you spyin' on us, I'll have your backsides mounted on my wall!" They boys gave him a look. Lank wasn't quite good yet at thinking of threats under pressure. He certainly didn't want any rear-ends of men on his wall. Especially THESE men. Lank sighed. "Alright look," he said, taking off his hat and running a hand through his course brown hair, "you let me treat girls the way I want to without question, and I won't question you about the way YOU GUYS want to treat them. You want to go and touch them, feel them, smell them, smack them? Do it. I don't give a damn anymore. I tried." Lank was fed up, once again. He had to stay calm and control his temper so he didn't scare Patsy away. He looked over at the piano where he saw Harry swaying tipsily as he and Custus sang "Home on the Range" at the piano. His break was up. "Hey Harry," Lank said, "Break's up. Back to work." Harry, red-faced and talking very loudly, faced Lank. "Aw c'mon Lank, you gave me a break!" he said between hiccoughs. "Yeah, and it's over. Now go and help those guys before I BREAK you're neck," Lank said as he picked Harry up by the scruff of the neck and tossed him to the bar. Harry was too drunk to feel anything, though. "Thanks, Lank," said Custus. "He was annoyin' me!" "Not a problem," Lank said, smiling slightly. "Hey, I think we should have a duel between the two bartenders!" said Billy. "It would go good with our Western Fight repertoire!" "Yeah! There you go! Now you're talkin'!" chorused the boys. The girls didn't seem to know what was going on. Lank bit his bottom lip again. Should he? It would be just like old times, before Bobby Child came along. He looked at Billy, to Harry, who was drunk as a skunk, and then to Patsy. She looked scared and confused, but she gave him a smile and winked. Lank smiled back. "Let's duel!" he said. "Yeah!!!!!" the saloon rang with cheers, hoots, and hollers. Amongst the commotion on drunken yells, and the excited jabbering of Billy and Wyatt, who were the kings of fighting, Pete, Sam, and Jimmy grabbed Harry from behind the bar and put him in front of Lank, who stood with his gun out (which was full of blanks, as was everyone else's, but the girls didn't know that). Harry hiccoughed again. "Okie-Dokie," Harry said, swaying slightly, "here we go." Lank and Harry both turned around and walked (well in Harry's case, stumbled) and stopped. Lank was going to impress Patsy once and for all. She would be running to his arms after this. He felt strong, (which he really was) tall, (which he was, almost abnormally) and brave (which he was). He felt like he was at home at last. Being an All-American cowboy, fighting the "villain", and getting the pretty girl at the end, he couldn't help feeling very proud as he pulled the trigger. Lank and Harry turned around. Harry tried to fumble with his trigger. Lank gave him some time to find it. BANG! Lank fired. Harry, (who was used to this) gave a staged scream of pain and crumpled to the ground. The girls screamed. Lank smiled and laughed the laughed only he could do, and blew the fake smoke from his gun, twirled it in his hands, and put it in his holster. The girls screamed in horror. "YEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!" cried Wyatt and Billy. Soon the boys in the saloon were shooting, dying, and fighting left and right. Custus decided to intensify the fight by jumping onto Lank. Thinner, but taller, Lank threw Custus to the ground and they started punching playfully. Soon the boys, who weren't "shot" yet, were fighting tooth and nail, just for the fun of it. When the physical contact started to grow old, Lank and Wyatt each drew two guns, and shot the few that were still standing. Soon, Lank and Wyatt were standing in a sea of dead cowboys. They looked at each other and shook hands. "Good one," said Wyatt. "You too, partner," said Lank. He looked over at Patsy, expecting her to be smiling. Instead, she and the two other girls she was with were looking horrified. "What the hell was that?!" exclaimed Tess. "What?" said Wyatt. "You just shot someone! You just caused the death of our cast! And your town!" she said. Lank, and Wyatt cracked up. "Oh, c'mon lady," said Wyatt, "do you really think they're dead?" "Well, they were shot, weren't they?" she said. "Of course not!" said Wyatt. "These here're blanks!" He turned to Lank. "Hey Lank!" BANG! Wyatt shot Lank right in the head. Lank gave a fake scream and fell over dramatically. Several girls, including Patsy, screamed. Wyatt laughed again. "See," he said, "we like to reenact famous fights from the old west! It attracts tourists! What else would we do for fun?" He looked down at the sea of cowboys. "Good fight guys," Wyatt said. "We'll have to remember that one. Billy, can you write that down for me?" "Sure," Billy said as he untangled himself from Moose and stood up. "Lank," said Wyatt, "for a while I thought you'd lost your touch. But, obviously, you're still the same Lank we all know and love, even before," Wyatt winced. "The show came along." Nearly everyone expected Lank to flip his lid. But he didn't. He merely smiled. "I'll never loose my touch," said Lank, as he too, got up. "Yeah, you don't wanna angry Lank when he's armed and dangerous," said Mingo. "I mean, he's always been dangerous, but he's never had to come to really shooting us.yet." "Nah. He's hanging our rears on his wall," said Jimmy. The six men in which Lank had threatened laughed. Slowly, everyone started to drift out into the street. Lank stayed around to see if Patsy had stayed. Lank walked into the back room to put away wine bottles. 'Please, please make her stay,' he prayed. He walked out into the saloon. It was empty. His heart, which had been as light as it ever was, turned to stone and sunk again. She didn't stay. Lank didn't have to reason out why. She saw him shoot someone tonight. Even though they were blanks, Patsy new knew, that he, Lank, wasn't afraid to kill. She more than likely thought of him as a murderer. Why was he so stupid? Why? He was about to walk upstairs to him room and cry himself to sleep in self- hatred when he heard someone come in. Heart leaping, he blinked back tears and whirled around. Standing there, face illuminated by the moonlight, and looking more beautiful than ever, was Patsy. 


End file.
